A History Lesson
by whirlgig
Summary: No Lily, your father and I are not splitting up, don’t be ridiculous.' Harry/Ginny POST DH oneshot. A sequel to After-Haze, but can be read on its own.


**A History Lesson**

_Thanks Al. Sit down please, Lily, James. I promise this won't take long. _Ginny sees the dubious looks on James and Lily's faces and rolls her eyes. _Well it might. But it's important. No Lily, your father and I are not splitting up, don't be ridiculous.  
_

James makes a small noise that might be a cough and Ginny's eyes flash. 

_What was that James?  
_

James is silent, slightly mollified and he thinks that maybe now isn't the right time to stir his mum up._  
_

_That's what I thought, _Ginny nods._ Now. _

Ginny inhales slowly and her children stare back, little faces peering up at her with the intensity only the combined forces of three children under twelve can muster. 

_I have decided – _Ginny pauses here, takes a breath and continues – _to tell you about your uncle. _

_Which one mum? We have like, over a thousand._

_No, Lily darling. Your other uncle. The one you never got to meet.  
_  
Lily is quiet for a while, brow furrowing. _But, we already know - _

James elbows Lily and she shoots him a vicious look, mouthing _what?__ What?_ But James ignores her, staring at his mother. She looks sad and he sort of wants to hug her but he can't really - he'll be twelve soon - but Albus is suddenly there with his too-small arms and pointy elbows and his mum is smiling again. She rubs Albus's back and whispers a thank you. James feels himself relax enough to turn back to Lily and poke his tongue out at her, watching her face heat up with indignation. He smirks, satisfied, and turns back to his mother. 

_Thanks Al. I'm alright. You can sit back dow__n. I know you know about him, Lily, but I want to tell you three properly, because - _Ginny's voice breaks and she looks down at her hands. The three children stiffen slightly and Lily's breath catches; a tiny, fragile sound that is almost lost in the crackling of the fire beside them. Ginny's shoulders straighten and she looks back up again. 

_Okay?_

_Okay.  
_

_Okay. So. Here we go, then.  
_

_Okay mum.  
_

_This is going to be me, telling you about your uncle.  
_

_Alright, mum.  
_

_Okay.  
_

A noise at the doorway startles Ginny and she looks up. Harry is leaning against the frame, staring at her in the pale grey winter light, last-minute Christmas packages dangling from a hand. Her eyes meet his and he wills her silently to continue. They have talked about this, late at night when Ginny's legs are lying over his and his hand is wrapped in her hair; when words are breaths in the dark and everything around them is stillness and shadows. Ginny wants her children to know – they both do –about her brave, clever, impossibly funny brother who had died fighting and gone away laughing. She wants to tell them how he teased her mercilessly over her crush on Harry, how he had once saved her from drowning in the creek out the back of the Burrow, how he and George had let her into their treehouse for a treat on her sixth birthday and let her eat as much treacle tart as she wanted. She had been sick for a day afterwards and Fred had come to her with piles of Martin the Mad Muggle comics and read them to her, doing all the voices, til her stomach hurt from laughing so hard. She wanted them to know him like she had, which she knew was impossible but – she wanted him to be more than just a name to them. 

Looking down at them all; at Lily, fidgeting quietly with legs crossed in front of her, at Albus, so like Harry with a sort of quiet intensity in those bright green eyes of his and at James, who was trying very hard to look serious and grown up. Do you know, she thought, how much he would have loved you? How he would have spoiled you? How he would have claimed the 'Cool Uncle' title and demanded they come to him for advice about which spot exactly to tickle their mum in, or to teach them the Repetition game and, much later, to ask for advice about relationships and, Merlin forbid, _sex_? How do I even begin to start telling you about this brilliant person you will never get the chance to meet? Somewhere in the very pit of her, buried so deep within her skin she had forgotten it was there, a tightness ached suddenly and she felt terribly sad that they would never – could never – know, not really, not in the way she wanted them to. 

_I've heard – _Ginny can hear the smile in Harry's voice as it cuts across the living room. Three little heads snap up to stare at their father – _that to start at the very beginning is generally a very good place to start.  
_

Ginny looks up at him then, her eyes meeting his and he crosses the room and sits next to her on the couch, her body dipping towards his slightly as he settles. The warm length of his body is in line with hers and he smells of Christmas and night-time and something so very Harry underneath it all. Her hand finds his and the tightness unravels slightly and she thinks that, for the three little people in front of her, she can bloody well try. She takes a deep breath. 

_His name was Fred._


End file.
